


Maybe, Baby

by thoughtsickles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Baker Harry, British Harry, Domestic Fluff, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Louis, southern louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-08-18 18:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8172329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsickles/pseuds/thoughtsickles
Summary: It all feels too easy, too good to be true. It all feels like a scene from Louis' daydreams, the kind of life he'd always imagined he'd have when he was younger and bored at his momma's work, sneaking around the hallways of the maternity ward until the nurses let him in to hold the babies. He'd felt so important being allowed to touch them. He'd told them stories of the lives they were going to have, houses with nice wallpaper that wasn't peeling, yards filled with sunshine and flowers and grass that never went yellow. A hammock to nap in, cuddled up with his husband.
You can't stay here, he tells himself, but Baby doesn't want to listen.
****
Louis runs away. Harry finds him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I already have the ending written, so I promise this will update! And will eventually earn that M rating ;) 
> 
> It's been pointed out to me that Louis' relationship with his ex is somewhat emotionally manipulative/abusive, so I've updated the tags in case anyone isn't here for that. The Louis/Harry relationship in this very fluffy and happy, I promise.

Sometime in the hours following the fight, Louis gets in the car and drives.

It’s only 30 minutes until the city fades away and the highway turns to two lanes, boxed in by pine trees with a mathematical sameness. It’s always been weird to Louis, a Southern boy at heart, where the trees are a riot of diversity, to drive into the woods of the Pacific Northwest. 

It’s night and his headlights are only so strong and he takes each turn he thinks looks interesting, the signs fading to a blur in his head, just numbers and various symbols. It’s stupid and immature and everything Luke just told him he is. He can clearly picture his phone where he left it on the kitchen counter. 

He strokes a hand down his belly and sings soothingly to baby along with the radio. 

*******

It’s gone 3 or 4 in the morning when Louis feels himself getting tired and pulls over. _Just resting my eyes,_ he thinks, and the next thing he knows he’s being awoken by a loud knocking on the window.

“Are you alright?”

Louis can hear the woman’s voice through the glass. He blinks awake and immediately groans at the crick in his neck from sleeping slumped against the headrest. Goddamn, he has to pee.

He opens the door and gets a look at the sheriff. She’s in khaki uniform, about his mother’s age, concern etched on her face at Louis climbing awkwardly out of the car with his 7-month pregnant belly. 

“Sugar,” she says gingerly. “Should you be out driving so late at night?”

“I’m sorry, I just pulled over to rest a minute. I didn’t mean to stop here.” Fuck, his bladder is killing him.

“Is there someone we can call to come get you? I worry about you driving all alone. A husband, or boyfriend, or—“

“There’s no one to call,” Louis says too quickly, and he must look pitiful enough about it that she doesn’t press. “I’m just gonna—excuse me—“ and he hobbles over to empty his bladder on a tree behind his car.

It’s misting down a little, just the hint of rain, enough to dirty his glasses. He hasn’t worn his contacts in months, something about the pregnancy making his eyes extra sensitive, combined with the need to be able to nap at any time without his eyes waking up dry. 

Baby likes to sit on his bladder and make everything seem like an emergency. He walks back around the car feeling embarrassed to have peed in front of some stranger, but she just looks concerned. 

“Let me drive you into town,” she says, and Louis doesn’t argue.

**********

The sheriff’s name is Pat, and she makes him a cup of decaf coffee in the tiny sheriff’s station with a sign that looks like it’s from the 70s. The drive in was fields of orchards and cows and faded signs inviting tourists to stop and taste the world-famous cherries. There’s nothing to taste now, not when it’s coming on winter and there’s already snow dusting the tops of the mountains surrounding them out the windows.

Louis watches Pat putter around the office, getting papers together and answering the phone when it rings twice, each time reassuring someone she’ll take a look at something that sounds like it has to do with cows. 

“Just hold tight for a minute, Sugar, I’ve gotta get the mail in,” Pat says, as she heads outside.

Louis realizes he hasn’t been called Sugar in years, not since leaving North Carolina. His Mamaw used to call him that. He feels himself tearing up, just at some vague homesick feeling, and it’s oddly infuriating. His hormones have been so out of wack lately.

He’s just progressing to full on sobs when the door swings open and it isn’t Pat at all, it’s a man in a rain slicker holding a donut box. 

“Hi,” the man says, and then, “are you— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

He shoves the box on a desk just as Louis starts hiccuping, mortified to be crying over nothing.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” the man says soothingly, walking over and awkwardly offering Louis a tissue. He pulls the yellow hood down and runs a hand through his hair, a wild rain-soaked mess of dark curls. He’s very pretty, Louis’ brain notes unhelpfully.

“I’m fine, really,” Louis says once he’s in control of his voice again, blowing his nose loudly into a wad of tissues. “It’s just, you know, hormones….” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. The man doesn’t look very convinced. 

“Pat said she’d be back in a jiffy,” the man says. He stands there for a long moment where Louis wonders how red and puffy his face must look. “Would you like—“ the man starts. “I could clean your glasses for you.” He blushes after he says it.

Louis stares up at this stranger, voice caught in his throat. “That would be, actually, really nice,” Louis says finally. He feels like crying again, because how did this stranger know that was exactly what Louis was thinking about, how dirty his glasses were from the rain and now his sneezing, how horrible it was to have to go around with filthy glasses.

“My mum always likes that, when she’s had a day,” the man says, smiling now that his offer is accepted. There’s a slight hint of an accent that Louis hadn’t picked up on before. Louis hands his glasses off and the man takes them over to the little sink in the office kitchen and returns them a moment later after buffing them on his undershirt. 

“Thank you,” Louis says. “Are you—“

“Oh I’m just Pat’s donut supplier,” the man says. “I just bring the donuts. The donut man. She’s just having a chat with the mailman, Bob, he’s a talker. Can’t escape running into him without a 30-minute anecdote about the road conditions.” 

“Right,” Louis says, because that hadn’t been what he’d been trying to ask. He tries again. “Are you English?”

“Oh! Yes. I mean, I lived there until I was sixteen, and then I moved out here to live with my dad. You’re southern, right? I’ve gotten good with American accents. Everyone says I have a knack.”

“North Carolina,” Louis says.

“A Tarheel,” the man replies. He grabs the donut box and offers it out to Louis. “Do you want…?”

“I would love one,” Louis says, grabbing a cream-filled. “Baby loves anything sugary.”

The man looks delighted. “Can I—do you mind—?” he asks, and Louis waves his hand because he’s used to it already from everyone.

The man squats down so he’s eye level with Louis’ belly and pats it. “You’re going to be a wild one, aren’t you? Going to have your Papa chasing after you.”

“Don’t encourage the scamp,” Louis says.

The man giggles. His hand is warm on Louis’ belly, and large. 

The door swings open and Pat comes back in with the mail. “‘Morning, Harry.”

Harry stands up hurriedly. “Morning, Patty. Brought you a few extras today, and it’s good I did.” The man—Harry—nods at Louis. “I’m gonna get back now. My regulars will be in soon, even if it is pissing down. Everyone wants cream-filled in this weather.” Harry winks at Louis before leaving, and Louis feels a little lighter.

************

Louis’ good mood fades as soon as Harry leaves and Pat starts questioning him. He doesn’t have the answers she wants, he doesn’t know what to say. He knows he’s being stupid, and selfish, because what other kind of person would drive off in the middle of the night seven months pregnant with nothing but the clothes on their back? 

He sees her face take on a sort of pity, after a while, and he lets it stay there. He feels horrible, because it’s not like Luke was hitting him or locking him in the closet or anything. It was just a bit of yelling. Just a bit of all the issues they’d always had, magnified a thousandfold because Louis had gone and gotten knocked up, and had the gall to tell Luke he wanted to keep it. He’s only 24. He can’t even be arsed to make the bed most mornings, he’s been fired from every job he’s ever held, he still calls his momma when he needs to make a big decision. They'd just moved to a city halfway across the country for Luke's career, and Louis' in debt and still paying off his college loans. He doesn’t have any business having a baby, not now. 

God, Mom is going to kill him. He asks to use Pat’s computer and fires off an email. _I’m fine, I'm safe, just trying to cool off, don’t worry about me. Love you, will call soon._ It’s not enough, but Enough would be telling Pat he has a boyfriend in Seattle, and this was all just a tantrum, and he’d like to drive back please. Enough would be going back and being a grown-up. 

Louis has never felt less like a grown-up. 

“We’ll get your car off the road and somewhere safe. If you need to stay a few days, there’s a place in town,” Pat is saying, carefully, like she thinks Louis needs protection. Like Louis is a victim, and not just a massive fuck-up. 

“I didn’t bring any money,” he says.

“We’ll worry about that later, alright?” Pat helps him get to his feet, and leads him out to the squad car, just enough of a walk to get his glasses dirty again.

************

The place in town is a walk-up above a bakery. Pat helps him get up the stairs and Louis sits down hard on the rickety bed. It’s decorated like a Victorian auntie’s tea shop. It’s where a Mrs. Myrna Gregg usually lives, who owns the bakery downstairs, but she’s been staying with her son down in Puget Sound for most of the year.

“And there’s not much cause for her to come up this way anymore, not with Harry running the shop so well—“

“Harry? The donut man?”

Pat laughs. “Yes, he does like those donuts. Such a nice boy, and all the way from England—says he felt right at home here, with the weather!” She laughs. “You can always pop downstairs to ask him if you need any help, and he lives right next door. He’s a good boy, you don’t need to worry about him,” she adds.

“No, yeah, he seemed nice.”

“My niece has some maternity clothes I could lend you. They won’t be too femme, don’t worry, she’s quite the butch.”

“Thank you. I don’t mind a bit of florals now and then.”

Pat laughs and then pats his belly, serious. “You just… whatever it is, it can’t get to you here, alright? You’re going to be alright.”

Louis sits down on the bed after Pat leaves the third time, surrounded by a lot of maternity clothes that look like they belonged to a 90s lesbian. He always feels on the verge of exhaustion these days, but also restless. 

There’s a knocking on his open door and Harry is peeking his head in. 

“Um,” Harry says. “I just made some tarts?”

“Are you asking me?” Louis teases.

Harry grins. “I'm ordering you! Come be my taster.”

The tarts are apple—from the local crop, Harry explains. Also, technically, they’re not tarts but galettes, because they’re made without tins. Louis lets Harry ramble on about baking facts while he finished up his second (alright, third) mini galette with vanilla bean ice cream, all handmade by Harry this morning. 

“I’m not eating you out of rent, am I?” Louis asks. There’s crumbs on his belly, and he surreptitiously tries to brush them off. 

“Don’t worry about it. I always make more than I can really sell, in the off-season. We make most of our money in the summer, with the tourists who come for the cherry harvest. We have a world-famous cherry cake,” Harry says.

“I saw the sign,” Louis says, and it gets a laugh. The sign takes up almost the entire storefront. “Do I get to sample that as well?”

“I never buy fruit out of season,” Harry says, mock-offended. “Also I’m sick of cherry cake. I never wanna see or smell it again.”

Louis watches Harry putting together his next creation, watches his large hands expertly folding flour and dough and whatever else is happening. Harry looks around his age, but there’s something undeniably youthful about him, something boyish. Probably the dimples. The effect is winningly attractive, the contrast between his strength and delicacy, his broad shoulders and his thin hips, his pink lips and his dark hair--

Louis catches himself staring and shakes himself out of it.

Harry should be at college, or living it up in the city. There’s no reason for someone so attractive and charming to be hiding out here in the middle of nowhere. But Harry hasn’t asked Louis any prying questions about why he’s hiding out here, so Louis will return the favor. 

“Try this,” Harry says, and Louis opens his mouth for Harry to shove a forkful of something delicious in. 

“That’s incredible,” Louis says, though it comes out garbled since he’s still chewing.

“It’s Earl Grey cake,” Harry says.

Louis gasps. “I hate Earl Grey!”

“No you don’t, you think it’s incredible.”

“I can’t believe you’d trick me like that,” Louis says. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Harry says. He feeds Louis a lunch of butternut squash soup and a salad, which Louis reluctantly eats because he knows Baby needs vegetables, okay. And if he makes Harry make him a cheese toast to go with it, that’s just him making sure he’s got enough protein.

It all feels too easy, too good to be true. It all feels like a scene from Louis' daydreams, the kind of life he'd always imagined he'd have when he was younger and bored at his momma's work, sneaking around the hallways of the maternity ward until the nurses let him in to hold the babies. He'd felt so important being allowed to touch them. He'd told them stories of the lives they were going to have, houses with nice wallpaper that wasn't peeling, yards filled with sunshine and flowers and grass that never went yellow. A hammock to nap in, cuddled up with his husband. 

_You can't stay here,_ he tells himself, but Baby doesn't want to listen.


	2. Chapter 2

Louis’ sitting in the bedroom in the afternoon, at a loss for what to do with himself. He cleared out of the shop, thinking he should give Harry a chance to do whatever he needs to do without Louis getting in the way. But now Harry’s coming up the stairs after him. 

“I’m going to the store if you want to come,” Harry says.

Louis thinks about sitting here by himself for another few hours. “Yeah, actually, that’d be great. I need to get out of this room,” Louis says.

Harry drives an old blue truck, paint chipping and rust peeking through. It’s Myrna’s, he explains. He helps Louis up into the cab and turns out onto the main road.

“I could… do you want to come down over for dinner? I always make too much.”

“You already fed me lunch. And breakfast.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s no trouble, really. And the stove up in that flat is touchy. I’ve been meaning to get it fixed.”

Louis starts to say no on principle, but Harry looks like he just genuinely wants nothing more than to feed Louis again. Louis relents. “Yeah, alright. What are you making?”

Harry smiles over at him. “You tell me. What does Baby crave?”

“God, you don’t want to know. Baby wants nasty things like liver and onions and sauerkraut.”

“I happen to like liver and onions.”

“Dunno why I want it. Haven’t eaten it since I was a kid, I’m not even sure I still like it.”

“Liver has tons of vitamins. Very nutritious stuff. Baby knows about these things,” Harry says, reaching over to pat Louis’ stomach. Louis giggles at the way he pronounces vitamins.

Louis watches the scenery flash by the windows. The grocery store is apparently ‘only a thirty minute drive.’ It only takes them ten minutes before they hit rain. The sound of it on the windshield is soothing. Louis leans back and lets his eyes close. 

“When I was a kid we didn’t even say ‘grocery store.’ We always just called it the Winn Dixie,” Louis says.

“There were no other stores near you?” Harry asks.

“No, there were all kinds. But they were all Winn-Dixie to my momma. Like how all copiers are Xerox.”

“There’s a linguistic term for that,” Harry says. “It’s a proprietary eponym. Like Kleenex or Band-Aid, which of course is properly a plaster. Did you know Styrofoam is a copyrighted name, too? Generically it’s closed-cell extruded polystyrene foam.”

“You’re weird,” Louis mutters, eyes still closed. He feels Harry tugging a jacket up over his belly, and it’s so cozy here, the vibrations of the road and the sound of rain.

******

Harry wakes Louis up when they’re at the store. He makes Louis get out right near the doors and wait while he goes and parks, even though Louis is perfectly capable of walking a few yards across the parking lot, thank you. He watches Harry jog through the lot with his slicker draped over his shoulders, holding on to some reusable bags. 

Harry buys his flours and butters and eggs in bulk from proper suppliers, but he prefers hand-selecting his produce and meats. This store he likes especially because they work directly with local farmers. Harry’s the kind of guy who finds everything interesting and wants you to share in all his knowledge, no matter how mundane. Louis’ always been a talker, was class clown since he could speak, but when he’s tired like this it’s nice to just listen.

They turn down the cereal aisle and Louis lights up. “I saw these donuts on instagram once that had captain crunch berries on them.”

“I’m not putting this shit on my donuts,” Harry says. “My donuts are better than this.”

“You’ve got to get with the trends, Harold,” Louis says. 

“Pretty sure Merl and Bob down at the Legion don’t want blue balls on their donuts,” Harry says.

“Well nobody wants blue balls,” Louis says, and Harry’s already cracking up. “But I’m sure Merl and Bob don’t have any problems in that department.”

“Louis, lower your voice,” Harry whispers. “I run into people here all the time.”

“I’m not the one who brought it up.” Louis tries to put the box in the cart but Harry puts it back on the shelf.

“Baby doesn’t want that.”

“Don’t tell me what Baby wants.”

Harry crouches down and presses his ear to Louis’ stomach. “What’s that? uh huh. Mmmhmm.” He makes a show of nodding and pausing before standing back up. “She’s with me, Louis, t’s two against three. No colored sugar puffs.”

Louis refuses to speak to Harry for two whole minutes after that blatantly unfair decision. He perks back up when they get to the meats, and Harry explains about a Full English, and Louis is definitely going to get Harry to make that for him. Screw the cereal. 

Harry’s just putting the most expensive of the bacon rashers into the cart—because it’s local, Louis, and they treat their pigs nicely—when a woman squeals and abandons her cart to come over.

“Harry! I haven’t seen you in ages,” she says. 

“Ever since you cancelled your daily pastry order,” Harry says, pulling her into a hug. She’s mid-forties, dressed for being out in this kind of weather. 

She laughs. “You know Tina can’t handle that kind of sugar anymore, I’m trying to be supportive.” She turns to Louis. “Oh honey,” she pulls Louis into a hug as well, and he’s almost tilted off balance. “I didn’t know Harry had a young man. And already expecting!” She gives him an extra squeeze. “Well, I never did figure Harry one to wait. I’m so happy for you both.”

“Oh we’re—we’re not—“ Louis tries to set her straight but he’s too trapped in the hug. 

“No, no, this is Louis, he’s staying above the shop for a few weeks? He’s a friend of Patty’s.” Harry says, quickly. “Louis, this is Frances, she _used_ to be a regular.” Harry feigns offense and Frances chuckles.  
She releases Louis from her hug. “Oh. Oh, well, didn’t mean to assume. You just looked—Sorry.”

“No worries,” Harry says. “I’m just… helping him out for a bit, that’s all.”

Frances’ eyes flick between them, questioning. “He’s a darling, this one,” Frances says, patting Harry’s cheeks and shooting a meaningful look at Louis. 

Louis’ embarrassed enough by the whole encounter that they make it all the way to the checkout line before he remembers he doesn’t have any money. He watches Harry load their cart onto the conveyer belt. 

“Harry,” he says, tugging on Harry’s sleeve. “I can’t—I should put some of this back. It’s not fair for you to pay for all my stuff, I’m sorry—“

“Hey, no,” Harry says. “I told you, I like cooking for people.” He finishes with their stuff and puts his hands on Louis’ shoulders. Louis, embarrassingly, is on the verge of tears again. 

“It’s too much to ask from you.”

“Myrna lets me buy whatever I need on the store’s card, and Patty offered to help out too. You’re not any trouble, really.” 

Harry pulls Louis into a hug, right there in line for the check out, and Louis would feel bad for the people in line behind them but the woman in front of them is trying to pay with a check, anyway. 

“Whatever it is you’re running from, you’re safe here. You don’t have to go back,” Harry whispers, running a hand up and down Louis’ back.

Harry finally lets go and Louis wipes his eyes with his sleeve. Harry takes the glasses carefully off Louis’ face and buffs them on his undershirt. He places them back on Louis' nose, smiling with that damn dimple, and Louis can't help but smile back. 

_I should,_ Louis thinks. _I should go back._

And then an even scarier thought-- _Oh god, I need to call my mom._


	3. Chapter 3

The phone is one of those rotary ones, perched on its own little table on top of a doily, next to an overstuffed armchair. Everything about it is cozy and comfortable but Louis’s hands are sweating when he dials. 

He hears the call connect, hears his mom's distracted-sounding hello from the other end. “Hi, Momma, it’s me.”

“LOUIS WILLIAM TOMLINSON,” his mom yells, and then starts sobbing through the phone.

Louis feels like utter shit for not calling sooner. He really is the worst son. 

“I was so worried, baby,” she says, between sobs. “Luke said you’d just left in a huff and we had no idea where you’d gone and if you were alright—“

“I emailed you,” Louis says.

“Oh, a three-word email with no information, I felt so much better!”

“I’m sorry. We had a fight. I just couldn’t be around him anymore.”

“Louis,” Momma says, like she’s disappointed in him. “You can’t just run off every time you have problems.”

Louis feels very young and small. “S’not every time.” There's an awkward stretch where he tries to think of some way to explain himself.

His mom is quiet, her voice more in control when she breaks the silence. “They say a father becomes a father when he holds his child, not before.”

Louis gives an exasperated huff. “Sorry, Momma, but that’s such bullshit.”

“I just think you’re being too hard on him. He’s young, you both are, and he hasn’t had much time to get used to the idea—I told you it’s best to get married first, I really think—“

“He said he wanted kids. We talked about it, and then I get knocked up and suddenly it’s ‘not yet’ and ‘that was theoretical and based on certain other life events.’”  
“If you had gotten married first—“

“What does that have to do with anything?” Louis half-shouts. He’s crying now. “He wasn’t even happy!”

“Louis.”

“I told him the news and he wasn’t even happy,” Louis says. “He wasn’t excited. He just started asking me about my birth control, going on about whose ‘fault’ it was. I know it was a surprise but he wasn’t… he wasn’t happy at all.”

Louis had been shocked at first when he’d done the test, had sat on the toilet seat for all of five minutes waiting to see how he felt, and then broken out in a grin and felt joy bubble up in him. Because he’d always wanted it, had felt so lucky when he’d learned he was a carrier, always wanted a house full of kids, just like the one he’d grown up in, and suddenly it didn’t matter that he didn’t have a job and he’d moved across the country for someone else’s career and had no friends, because he was going to be a papa. He was going to have the family he’d always wanted, and he’d wanted it with Luke, he really had. 

“He’s only 25, Louis. Some men take a while to grow up,” his mom says.

_Harry is 22,_ a voice in Louis’ head says. “Don’t I get a pass on being irrational? With the hormones? Isn’t he supposed to be understanding about this?”

“Why don’t I come visit for a bit, baby,” his mom says. “I’ll come and stay with you while you guys work things out, I can help out when the baby comes. You always did get terrible homesick when you were away for too long.”

Louis realizes he hasn’t felt homesick in weeks, for the first time in… since maybe he moved out here, really. “I’m not going back to him yet.”

“Louis—“

“I’ve got to go, Momma, I’ll call you again.”

“Don’t you hang up on me—“

Louis feels bad about it, he does. He remembers when his momma was his best friend, when he used to spend hours on the phone with her every day. He tries to remember when it was that changed. When he became a constant problem for her to fix.

Harry ducks his head in and his expression falls when he sees Louis’ face. He tries to save it, giving a small smile— “Do you want to try the new bakes?” but Louis shakes his head. 

“I’m gonna draw you a bath,” Harry says. Louis sits around for the ten or so minutes it takes the tub to fill, and then Harry comes to get him and lead him to the small bathroom. 

The bathtub isn’t super nice, but it is deep, and there’s a few candles lit around the edges, a fluffy robe hanging on the back of the door, a little portable radio crooning classic country, something twangy and wailing. 

“If you’re going to wallow, you deserve to wallow in style,” Harry says. “Not that I’m saying there’s anything wrong with wallowing. I love a wallow, me.”

Louis laughs a little and dries his eyes. “You like a gesture, don’t you?”

“I was gonna do more candles, but then I thought, better not. Starts to look a bit sacrificial.”

Louis giggles. He herds Harry out the door and tells him to have a fruit tart ready for him when he’s done. 

**************

Pat comes back to visit the next day and see how Louis is ‘settling in.’ Harry serves them both a pot of tea and some almond tea cake and then busies himself behind the counter, trying to act like he's not listening in. Louis gives him a look but Harry just tugs his beanie down further and wipes some counter down for what's probably the twelfth time. 

“I promise I’ll be on my way soon,” Louis says. Almond cake isn't usually his favorite, but the density of it seems right, now, when he needs a bit of stability. 

“You take all the time you need, Sugar,” Pat says. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis sees Harry’s face light up. 

“I daresay Harry’s happy to have the company,” Pat says. “I worry about a young person stuck out here with naught but us old crones to talk to.”

Harry pops up from behind the counter with an offended look. “Age is just a number, Patty.” He smiles at Louis. “It is nice, though.” Harry blushes and Louis blushes back at the way Harry is looking at him, much too fond for only two days knowing each other. 

_He only likes you because he feels sorry for you,_ Louis tells himself. You’re just bringing out his protective instincts.

“Harry seems like an old soul,” Louis says. “He told me he even likes cleaning.” 

Patty laughs. “He’s a catch for someone, that’s for sure.”

Harry blushes and reaches over to pinch Louis surreptitiously. Louis shoots him an affronted look behind Patty’s back. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Pat says. “Only came in to get an extra box of tea cakes for Miss Hattie.”

Harry’s face changes to concern. “She doing all right? I haven’t visited this week, I feel terrible—“

“You do so much for her, dear,” Pat says. “She’s just getting on, no cure for that.”

Harry makes up a box and throws in all kinds of extras, insisting Pat take it for free. 

After she leaves he turns to Louis with a grin. “Anything for you, Sugar?”

Louis groans. “You know only women old enough to be my Mamaw get to call me that.”

“Now I think that’s a shame, Sugar.”

“I hate you. Make me some eggs. With pickles on the side.” Baby is really into pickles. Harry says this has to do with digestive juices or something. Louis' starting to suspect Harry has read more baby books than he has, which doesn't surprise him. 

“Comin’ right up, Sugar.”

Louis scowls at Harry as he waits for his eggs to fry, and takes his plate with a huff out into the garden. He falls asleep on the swing and wakes up later with a pillow tucked under his neck and a blanket spread over his legs. 

**************

Louis hangs out in the bakery most days, and comes to learn all of Harry’s regular customers—mostly farmwives and grandmothers who come in to buy bread and a few treats as part of their daily routine. The sheriff, firemen, and post office get personal deliveries every morning, which Harry does in an ancient blue truck. Louis sleeps in too late most mornings, but sometimes he accompanies Harry in the cab, boxes of donuts and pastries warm on his lap. Louis whines about hating herbal tea, so Harry brews him what amounts to flavored hot water, slightly herby and scented like cloves, often with a bit of foamed milk to make it fancy. Louis lets it warm his hands while Harry runs into deliver his boxes, always saying he’ll be just a minute and always staying for fifteen or twenty as he gets caught up in conversations. 

Louis doesn’t mind. He always gets the recaps when Harry comes back, and eventually he starts coming in as well. It makes him feel like a part of things, like he’s part of a real life here, hearing about whose dog is missing and who who got fed up with tourists using their driveway for turnarounds and installed a chain across it. 

Harry is fun to watch with people. He's effortlessly charming, winning over everyone with his slight clumsiness and dimples and curls peeking out from under his beanie. He's amazingly perceptive of people, and everyone confides in him. Louis' shocked to learn Harry's only lived here for two years, he seems like a fixture of this place as sure as Doris down the fire station or Gary who hangs out at the gas station coffee stand every morning. 

Louis thought his presence would create questions, but he supposes talk travels fast enough here that everyone already knows who he is and what he's doing with Harry, or at least thinks they know. Louis grew up in a city--not big by West Coast standards, but large enough that he didn't feel like everyone knew everything about him without even talking to him. He wonders what they'd all think if they knew the truth--that he's not much of a victim at all. 

*************

 

Even though the bakery is on the main street of the town, the backyard is a long interrupted stretch of garden and lawn that ends in woods. There’s a broken porch swing, a mossy birdbath, and a bunch of overgrown areas that might once have been flowerbeds.

“I’ve always meant to fix this up,” Harry says apologetically when he finds Louis sitting on the swing in the afternoon. “Myrna used to grow her own vegetables for the shop out here. But it’s so hard to keep the deer out.”

Louis walks over to the fallen-over fence, just a short white picket fence. “Can’t expect to keep anything out with that.” He squats down to pick it up and Harry rushes over to support him as he stands back up.

“I don’t want you working on any of this,” Harry says. “You don’t need to be lifting anything.”

Harry’s hands feel warm on Louis' back. It’s nice. 

“I’m not gonna lift anything heavy,” Louis says. “Just want to poke around a bit. My Momma used to have a garden.”

It’s the first time he’s mentioned anything of his life before, and Harry’s looking at him, curious. Louis flushes under his attention. 

“Not like I’m an expert, or anything. But you’ve got the rain. Should be able to get a few things growing.”

“Mess around with whatever you want,” Harry says. “Just promise you won’t lift anything. And don’t get up too fast. And don’t—“

“Okay, Mr. Worrywart. I promise not to exert myself at all.” He heads back towards the shop. “I’m hungry. You haven’t fed me in almost two hours.”

Harry walks with him, his hand resting on Louis’ lower back. “I’ve been neglecting you.”

“You have.” Louis sniffs. 

“What’s your pleasure?”

“Do you have any more of that Earl Grey cake?” Louis asks, raising his chin haughtily at Harry’s delighted grin. “It’s only Baby who likes it, not me. I can’t be held accountable for Baby’s horrid tastes.”

Harry pats a hand on his stomach. “Baby is going to be cultured and elegant.” Harry blushes. “Do you know—“ he bites his lip and looks at Louis like he’s asking permission to ask. “Did you find out if it’s a boy or a girl? Not that you have to tell me, I don’t—“

“I wanted to be surprised,” Louis answers. 

That was one of the big fights—not that any of them were small, in the end. But Louis had wanted to be surprised, had wanted them to both find out at the birth, together. Luke couldn’t believe how silly he was being, what was he supposed to tell his friends who asked? Didn’t Louis want people to be able to buy the appropriate gifts for his shower?

And then Louis had said there shouldn’t be different gifts at all, why should it matter? And that had turned into a whole thing about gender neutral parenting, and Luke kept coming back to the fact that Louis was refusing to be realistic about any of this, that _we live in the real world, Louis, not your fantasy._

They had gone to the ultrasound and Louis had asked for the screen to be turned away, and then Luke had gone and looked anyway, and told the technician to tell him, and turned triumphantly over to Louis, where he was lying belly-out on a table, and said, “It’s a girl.”

Louis feels tears come to his eyes at the memory. Fuck, he’s always known Luke could be a manipulative dick when he wanted to be. It was fun in the early years, when Luke would use it against people who’d pissed him or Louis off, and they could laugh about it together. Louis had just always thought that love could change people. But he supposes that was another thing Luke was right about. Louis had always been good at living in his own fantasy. 

Harry picks up on his mood and changes the subject, rambling on about a new savory hand pie he’s concocting, and Louis jumps in to protest the inclusion of squash on principle. 

“Butternut goes so well with bacon, though,” Harry says, pleadingly. 

Louis’ stomach lets out a grumble. “Fine. I can’t believe you and Baby are teaming up against me.”


	4. Chapter 4

Louis spends much of the next few weeks eating too much pie and poking around in the garden. It’s a bit late in the season to start much, but he uncovers a few perennials to try and keep up, including a nice patch of daylilies and some blackberry brambles that were climbing the sad excuse for a fence. There’s also some decent looking, if a bit overgrown, oregano and sage. He cuts off a few stalks and hangs them from the window of the mud room to dry. Harry asks to use a bit and a few hours later Louis is tucking into a oregano and red onion focaccia turkey sandwich. 

Harry has a proper record player (of course he does) and Louis offers his opinions on Harry’s choices to bake to. He does love him some Dolly (apparently she’s Myrna’s favorite too) but he draws the line at more than one song of Crosby, Stills, & Nash. Harry takes it all in stride, and never seems to actually take offense to Louis’ teasing. It’s nice, to feel like they’re on the same level. 

Louis does start a few things in pots in the windowsill. There’s a great greenhouse window on the side of the bakery near the kitchen and Louis uses some of Harry’s old tea tins and half an egg carton to make a little herb garden. It’s the kind of thing he always meant to get started in his own place, but there was always moving, and never enough space in the dinky apartments to faff around with dirt and seeds. Harry wakes Louis up a few days after the planting to pull him downstairs to look at the little shoots coming up, tiny and perfect. 

“It’s not hard,” Louis says under Harry’s amazed look, as if Louis had created the plants himself.

“I couldn’t have done it,” Harry says. Which isn’t true, but Louis likes Harry’s praise more than he cares to admit. 

“You should put fried sage leaves in that butternut handpie,” Louis says. “I mean, I’ve heard they’re good with butternut. And they’re nice and crunchy.”

“That’s a really good idea,” Harry says. He beams so brightly at Louis that Louis blushes a little. 

 

*********

Harry turns the truck off the highway onto a pothole-filled dirt track that weaves its way into the trees. They’re up in the mountains beyond the farmland, the extra height bringing with it winds that buffet the truck and a driving rain as opposed to the light misting Louis awoke to. He hugs the box of pastries on his lap closer as the truck dips into yet another gully in the road.

“Sorry about the bumps,” Harry says. He’s going as slow as possible but there’s no way to save them from the washed-out track in front of them. It’s a rough thirty minutes through the rain, with Louis feeling like he’s being thrown around on one of those carnival rides. Luckily he’s always had a strong stomach for motion sickness. 

They get to a stream crossing and Harry groans. 

“I shouldn’t’ve let you come,” Harry says. 

“It’ll be fine. It looks really shallow,” Louis says. 

“What if something happens and we get stuck? And there’s an emergency, and we can’t get out for hours—”

“Then you’d have to deliver a baby with your own two hands in the middle of the forest here.” Louis’ only half-joking. “Seriously, I’m not due for another month and you’re being unreasonable.”

“What if we get stuck?” Harry says. 

Louis eyes the shallow rocky stream in front of them. “I think you’re gonna gun it. C’mon, Harold, are you a true country boy or a chicken?”

Harry takes a deep breath and puts the truck back in gear. Louis ignores the part of him that’s always found the ability to drive stick hot—jeez, get a grip—and braces himself.

“Ready?” Harry asks. He looks over at Louis and steels himself. 

Harry yells and Louis joins in and Harry guns the gas. The truck lurches crazily through the washed-out gullies and into the stream, throwing water up as high as the windows. Okay, it’s a bit deeper than Louis thought. Louis grabs for the handle on the door to have something to hold onto and the pastries go sliding to his feet.  
Harry’s yelling, Louis’ yelling, the water’s spraying and Louis is wondering if they’re going to drift away like a bad game of Oregon Trail, and then they’re lurching out and up the other side. Harry lets out a whoop and Louis whoops with him and the truck slows to a stop. Harry puts it in park and tugs his beanie off to run a hand through his hair. 

“I can’t believe you talked me into that. That was a proper river fording.”

Louis laughs and grabs Harry’s hand to press it on his stomach. “You riled Baby up,” Louis says. He can feel Baby kicking and Harry meets his eyes and lets a slow smile spread across his face. 

Louis flushes at the way Harry’s looking at him—like Louis’ the best thing Harry’s ever seen. Like this is the best thing Harry’s ever felt. 

Louis coughs and looks away. Harry removes his hand and the spell is broken, and they continue down the road in an awkward sort of silence. 

****************

Another twenty minutes of slow bumpy driving and they’re turning off on a gravel drive. Louis sees the house through the trees as they wind down the driveway, a magnificent sort of old-style farmhouse. There’s some wooded pasture surrounding it, and a worn-down looking barn. Harry tells him there used to be horses, and goats too when Miss Hattie could keep them up. Now it’s all a lush overgrown tangle. 

Louis is expecting an interior of doilies and overstuffed chairs, but Miss Hattie’s furniture is eclectic and bohemian, everywhere exotic-looking bright fabrics and chairs right out of Mad Men’s 70s episodes. Louis apologizes for the slightly rattled pastries, but Miss Hattie waves him off.

“It’ll taste just the same and that’s all that matters.”

She’s a tiny stooped old woman, but seems remarkably fit for what Harry told him is near 100. She uses a cane and has Harry fetch the teapot from the kitchen for her, because “what’s the point of being an old biddie if you can’t be waited on by a handsome young man every now and then.”

She asks Louis all the usual questions—when he’s due and is it a boy or a girl, if he’s got names in mind. Louis deflects and compliments her furniture, and sure enough she has stories about getting things from far-off lands. 

“Miss Hattie’s traveled everywhere,” Harry says. “She’s been to six continents.”

“I’d have been to seven if they’d have me,” Miss Hattie says. “But they want to keep Antartica for the penguins.” She offers them milk and sugar and Louis allows himself a small cup of real tea—he can’t be rude, after all—with plenty of milk. 

“Hope the road out here wasn’t too rugged,” Miss Hattie says. “They don’t keep it up like they used to.”

“No, no, it wasn’t too bad,” Louis says, and catches Harry’s eye in time to catch his giggles. 

They listen to Miss Hattie tell about caravanning through the middle east and cruising the Amazon and before Louis knows it’s it’s afternoon and the rain has stopped. Harry whispers to him in the hallway after he goes to the toilet but Louis waves him off. He’s good to stay a little longer. 

“I’ve seen many young people over my years,” Miss Hattie says. “So many of them have to be stupid before they figure out how to be smart. But you’re a special one, Harry. Don’t know how you managed to get so wise so young, but it’s a gift, you hear me? Trust yourself. Don’t let others tell you you’re doing it wrong. Listen to Miss Hattie, I’m 98 years old and I know more than these so-called adults in this town.”

“You’re not a day over 70,” Harry says. 

Miss Hattie opens drawer on the little table next to her and pulls out a key on a little leather tie. “Now I haven’t been a spinster all my life for nothing, young man. I got no living relatives I much like, but they’ll have to have the house and what’s left of the money anyways, I can’t help that. Blood before water, and all. But this one’s for you.” She puts the key in Harry’s hand and clasps it with her gnarled shaky one. Louis feels like he’s intruding. 

Harry doesn’t close his hand. He shakes his head. “You can’t—“

“Many a year ago I made some investments on a friend’s recommendation. Most of them were bunk. But I did buy a piece of property in the city. Everyone told me to sell for years, and I was holding onto it—sentimental of me, but I am that way about things. Still have costume jewelry from when I was a teenager, and magazines from my father’s collection.”

“Those are probably pretty valuable now,” Harry says. He looks down at the key. “Miss Hattie, you can’t just give me this—“

“Don’t tell me what I can do, young man. It’s only a little building, and Lord knows you couldn’t pay me to live in the city. But I know you young people like that sort of goings-on. And I can’t bear to see you stuck out here with only us town folks to appreciate your talents. Your granny didn’t want this for you.” She folds her hands over Harry’s. “You’ve got something to be. You can’t let anything hold you back, you hear?” 

She waits until Harry's in the kitchen and then leans over to Louis. “What I said goes for you too, Louis. Anyone or anything that stands in your way is not for you. The best thing you can do for your girl is not hold yourself back, not on her account or anyone’s, you hear?”

Louis nods. He doesn’t question how Miss Hattie knew Baby was a girl. 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how sad you’ve been,” she says to Harry as he comes back in. “And I’m not just talking grief.”

Harry looks overcome and Louis excuses himself to let them have a moment. 

*****************

The rain is finally dying down as they drive out, though Harry is nervous. He keeps frowning at the road, which doesn’t look any worse than earlier in Louis’ opinion. Until they get to the stream crossing.

It’s wider than earlier. About two times wider. 

“Shit,” Harry says. 

“We made it through before,” Louis says. “It can’t be that much deeper.”

He’s eating his words when the truck roars through the water, only for the back wheels to lose to sink into some hole and start spinning uselessly while Harry pushes the gas into the floor.

“We’re only stuck,” Louis says. “At least we’re not being carried down the river.”

Harry laughs. “I think we’re probably safe from that.”

Harry pulls a pair of wellies out of the backseat. “I’m gonna see if I can give it a push. You steer.”

Louis scoots over as Harry jumps out. “Don’t let go, Jack!”

Harry’s only up to mid-calf in the water and he rolls his eyes at Louis’ dramatics. 

After a few minutes of Harry putting his shoulder to the truck and Louis pressing the gas, Louis’ not finding it so funny anymore. 

“Maybe you should lift and push, instead of just pushing,” Louis shouts over the rev of the engine.

Louis sticks his head out the window to look at Harry, who’s covered in mud and soaked from the water the tires are spraying at him.  
Harry glares at him. “What do you think I’ve been doing?” 

“Put your back into it!”

“Fuck off,” Harry says.

“Every night in my dreams, I see you, I feeeeeel you….” Louis starts.

He sees Harry stop to flip him off in the rearview mirror. 

Louis’ mid song when the tires finally catch and the truck jerks forward. Louis’ so shocked he doesn’t hit the breaks for another few yards and Harry has to jog over to catch up. 

“You gonna drive away and leave me here?” Harry says, leaning up to prop his arms on the edge of the window.

Louis’ taller than him like this and he’s enjoying it a little. “Was thinking ‘bout it.”

“Who would keep you in pie if I wasn’t around?” Harry says. His eyes are so, so green, his curls frizzy where they’re escaping from his beanie, and Louis finds his eyes drifting down to Harry’s lips, wondering if they’re as soft as they look. If Harry would kiss soft and slow or if he has a pushy side, would drive the kiss faster and faster until Louis was gasping into his mouth. 

Louis couldn’t tell you how long he sat there, or whether the rain started up again or had been pouring the whole time, but eventually he pulled his eyes away from Harry’s and realized how wet Harry was getting. 

“I’ll scoot over,” Louis said, and then the spell was broken and Harry was climbing in to replace him in the driver’s seat.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry wakes Louis from his nap to ask what he wants for dinner. 

"Could do beef stew," Harry says. "It's good weather for it." 

"It's always good weather for it," Louis says, sitting up. His head feels fuzzy and he feels more tired than he was when he fell asleep an hour ago. He's been cooped up inside all day, that it's been blustery and shitting down rain and even a bit of hail earlier. 

"You're grumpy," Harry says.

Louis is grumpy. He's never been one for sitting still and he's so, so bored. 

"We can go to the store," Harry says. "What've you been craving?"

Louis lets his head fall back on the couch. “Do you know what I’ve been wanting? My Mamaw’s persimmon pudding. It’s not actually a pudding, it’s pudding in your sense—“ 

“—the actual meaning of the word,” Harry says, sounding as BBC pompous as he can.

“And I never even remember liking it that much but now it’s all I can think about. We used to go and gather the treefall persimmons on a road near the state park. I don’t even think you can buy them in stores, they’re just a weird local fruit, they don’t really even taste good raw.”

“Maybe they’ve got some strange trace mineral in them that your body needs,” Harry suggests.

Louis shrugs. He feels all his annoyance leave him and he's just left feeling sort of sad. “I think I’m just…”

“Homesick?” Harry suggest. He sits down on the end of the couch as Louis scoots his feet up. 

Louis thinks about what the last place was that really felt like home. Certainly not his apartment in the city, or his college houses. He's homesick for a place that isn’t even real anymore. For his childhood. For the idea of himself as a grown-up that he had back then. All the things he thought he was going to be, all the things he was going to do. All the possibility.

“I came out here after my parents’ divorce,” Harry says.

Louis looks up. 

Harry picks a bit of lint off the toe of Louis' sock. “Just to stay with my grandma for a few months while she got back on her feet from surgery. And then she died, and I didn’t go back.”

“When do you think you will? Go back?” Louis asks. He feels something heavy in his chest. 

“I don’t know,” Harry says.

Louis nudges Harry's hand with his socked foot and gets a small smile. “What about school? you must—you can’t just spend your whole life baking for little old ladies and the American Legion.”

Harry voice takes on a bit of edge. “It’s my life, I’ll spend it how I want.” 

Louis’ not sure why he’s arguing, only that Harry has to see how wasted he is out here. “You’re too smart for this.”

Harry gives a humorless laugh. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Louis hadn’t ever done well in school. He scraped by well enough to get into state college, ended up dropping out when his grades got too low in sophomore year. He’d meant to go back sometime. “You just—you’re better than all this. You don’t want to get tied down here. You don’t want to get… to get stuck with all this baggage that isn’t yours, not when… not when you could go anywhere. You could be anything. You’re so good.”

“So are you,” Harry says. “You put yourself down, and I know you don’t really believe that, I know you ran off for a reason.”

Louis can’t look Harry in the eyes. “It isn’t what everyone thinks.”

Harry rubs Louis' toes slowly. “What does everyone think?”

“That he treated me bad.” 

Harry keeps his touch slow and steady. “Didn’t he?”

“Not like… not like that.” Louis wraps his flannel tighter around him. It's Harry's, cozy and big but not big enough to cover his belly. “I just wanted this to be good for us. I wanted it to be how it’s supposed to be—joy, you know. Something good, something we could celebrate. I think I ruined us. I’m not sure there’s any going back now.”

“Do you want there to be?” Harry’s voice cracks. “If a baby ruins something, was it… is it that good to begin with?”

“I did love him. And I’m not trying to punish him. I just…”

“You did? Not anymore?” Harry says.

Louis wipes his eyes. “I don’t know. I just want to figure out who I am without him.” Louis laughs humorlessly. “At the worst possible time.” Louis stares off into the trees. “Cowards run away.”

“The brave take leaps. You took a leap.”

“This can’t be as good as it seems. This can’t be…”

“Can’t be what?”

“What life could be like.” Louis looks up at Harry. His voice sounds soft, even to himself. 

Harry's hand stills and Louis doesn't breathe for a second. Then Harry's standing up and pulling Louis up with him. "C'mon. You need to do something. You can help me peel the carrots."

"Fine," Louis says, but without any real bite. 

It does actually improve his mood, being in the kitchen and listening to Harry sing along to Buddy Holly. 

*********************

Louis gets back from his walk down the block--Harry had suggested he go out and deliver the fire station's order by foot, said it would do him good--and Louis should have known. 

He opens the door to the ding of the bell and a "Surprise!" yelled at him. 

Pat and some of the other regulars Louis’ talked to are gathered in the bakery. Louis looks around at the counter, decked out in streamers and a little cake stand set up on the table with whipped cream and—

“Is that persimmon pudding?” Louis says. It looks fancier than his Mamaw’s, but he recognizes the dark color, can smell the liquor-like aroma.

“I found a supplier of persimmon pulp out of Georgia,” Harry says. He's standing off to the side, a little sheepishly. “I’m thinking about putting in a regular order for the bakery, it’d be a fun seasonal thing—“

Louis pulls Harry in for an awkward hug over his belly. Harry doesn’t seem to mind being hunched over like this, just rubs his hands up and down Louis’ back. 

“Thank you,” Louis breathes. 

Harry squeezes him tighter. “Wait’ll you see the Cap’n Crunch donuts.”

Louis gasps. “You didn’t.”

He turns around and spots them on the side table. 

Harry smiles. “I tried one, and I want you to know they’re absolutely awful.”

Louis shoves one in his mouth and he can’t really disagree. He wipes the frosting off his hands on Harry’s apron. Harry catches Louis’ hand in his own just for a moment and Louis lets his other hand touch on Harry’s hip before pulling away.

“Figured we ought to give you a proper shower,” Pat says. She hands Louis a drink. “It’s a virgin mojito! Mint fresh from the windowsill, I’m told.”

“We don’t have to play that game where you eat candy out of diapers, do we?” Louis asks.

Pat laughs and Harry gets a horrified look on his face. “Not in my bakery, we’re not.”

Louis looks at the gifts piled around and tears come to his eyes. “You didn’t have to do all this."

“Just a few things you might need,” Pat says. “Don’t get too excited, there’s plenty of secondhand things. Meg Cooper even knitted some things, so that’s a burden you’ll have to bear with grace.” 

Harry’s made vol-au-vents—none with soft cheese, he assures Louis—and bacon wrapped water chestnuts, which remind Louis so forcibly of family holidays at home he tears up a little. It might also have something to do with everyone here, for him, giving him stuff and pretending like he’s a normal papa, like it’s a given that they would throw him a shower. Louis hadn’t made many friends in the city, and he hadn’t even had any work colleagues to do one of those sad office showers. He’d lied to his Mom about it, embarrassed to admit he hadn’t made any friends yet, remembering how often she’d mock him when he was younger for being the life of the party, for having a new best friend every month. 

Harry is absolutely awful at most of the baby games. The more spry ladies set up a "pregnant twister" board and Louis laughs to the point of tears over the sight of Harry trying to play twister with a balloon under his shirt while the 50-somethings 'accidentally' fall on top of him. Harry does win a round of the baby-themed bingo, though he's quite a bit off for the game where the guests cut yarn for how wide they think Louis' belly is. Louis pretends to be appalled at how long Harry's string is, but Harry offers to make it up for him with foot rubs, and Louis relents. Soon it's getting on dinner time and the guests make their goodbyes. It's only Harry, Louis, and Pat left. She's helping take down the decorations, but ends up sitting with Louis over a cup of ginger tea. 

"How are you doing?" she asks, and Louis plasters on a smile to say he's fine. She sees through it, and even Louis can admit it's not his best effort. 

“Sometimes…” Pat stops for a minute like she’s not going to go on, but then she does. “Sometimes the body knows things the mind isn’t ready for. What I mean is… you left him for a reason. Plenty of people run away from fights, drive around for a few hours, and go back to work it out. They don’t end up hours from home sleeping on the side of a highway.”

“Isn’t it unfair to Baby, to just… to just give up?”

“I think it would be unfair to use Baby as a way of punishing yourself for staying in a bad situation too long. Which isn’t your fault, and plenty of people make far greater mistakes than getting pregnant. And even then… none of it is a lifetime sentence. Not like it used to be. The one thing that’s hard is money and I want you to know that I’ll help you, whatever it is. You need a divorce, we’ll get a lawyer. You need a place to live, we’ve got that too. You need friends and family, we’ll be here.”

“I’m not married," Louis says.

“Good, that makes things easier.”

Louis sips his tea. “Only ‘cause he didn’t want to.”

“I don’t like to be one of those people who says everything works out for the best. But we’re here,” she says. She puts her hand over his and squeezes. “Feels like a chance to start again, doesn’t it?”

Louis’ eyes find Harry behind the counter without his control. 

He feels really and truly lost for the first time since driving away that night.


	6. Chapter 6

Louis’ wandering slowly around the garden in the middle of the night when Harry finds him. He doesn’t realize until Harry is right up on him and he’s been singing, low and soft and rubbing his belly, and he hopes it’s dark enough Harry doesn’t see his blush.

“Are you singing ‘Any Man of Mine’ as a lullaby?” Harry asks.

“Baby likes to keep me up late. Trying to get her to settle. Sorry about the singing.”

Harry ducks his head a little. “You’ve got a really nice voice. Your accent, it’s—I like it.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, softly. 

Harry’s face is soft in the dark. “Maybe Baby isn’t a fan of Shania’s early period. Maybe Baby—“

“Maybe, Baby,” Louis croons, just to see Harry’s grin in the moonlight.

“Maybe Baby is picky about music,” Harry says. 

“Never,” Louis says. “Baby loves Shania.”

“Well, who doesn’t?” Harry says. 

_Of course you love that song,_ Luke would say. _It’s basically the anthem of being high maintenance._ It’d been a joke, until it wasn’t. Louis’ getting better and better at drowning out Luke’s words in his head. Luke doesn’t get to ruin Shania for him. Luke doesn’t get to ruin this night for him, the way the stars are out for once, not hidden behind rainclouds, the way everything seems to be waiting in anticipation of something unknown, something not yet able to be understood. The way Harry looks at Louis, impossibly soft and fond and like he’s awed to even be here. 

“Maybe Baby isn’t in the mood for a lullaby. Maybe Baby needs to dance,” Harry says. 

Harry ducks inside and comes out with what looks to be a small suitcase. Louis watches him set it on the stone bench and open it to reveal an old turntable. The sound of some old twangy rock tune fills the night, and everything seems suddenly like a scene out of an old movie. 

Harry walks back over and places his hands on either side of Louis’ belly, swaying back and forth to the jaunty sort of oldie that comes on. Louis smiles when he hears the lyrics. Harry sings along.

_Maybe, Baby, I’ll have you_  
Maybe, Baby, you’ll be true  
Maybe, Baby, I’ll have you for me 

His hands slide up to wrap around Louis’ back. Louis’ stomach bumps up against Harry’s, and he winds his arms around Harry’s neck.

Harry does a little shuffle at the song’s _Da-da-da-da-da da-da-dah’s._ Louis giggles. 

The song fades out and the next one is softer. Their dancing slows and Harry leans down to press their foreheads together. Louis can feel Harry’s breath on his lips. 

“Fuck,” he says when Baby makes herself known. He pulls Harry’s hand around to press against where she’s kicking. 

Harry’s face is awed.

“You’ve gone and riled her up,” Louis whispers.

“She?” 

Louis reddens. “Shut up. I didn’t mean—“

“I knew it,” Harry says triumphantly. “She tells me all her secrets, I knew it.” He rubs over Louis’ belly in circles that make Louis feel dizzy, and not because of Baby. “Did you have a name picked out? or…” Harry stops himself and swallows.

Louis’s always been one for rash decisions, and Baby seems to be urging him on, kicking in time with the beat of his heart as he rises up on his tiptoes and kisses Harry.

Harry’s lips are just as soft as Louis imagined, and they kiss, slowly, dizzily, through the next few songs until the record finishes and it’s just the gentle revolving of the disc. 

Harry pulls back and Louis opens his eyes. He feels hazy, light. 

“We should get you off to bed,” Harry says. 

“Come with me,” Louis breathes.

“Louis…”

“Just to sleep.”

Harry licks his lips and takes a minute to breathe. “Okay.”

It’s getting harder and harder for Louis to climb the narrow staircase, and Harry helps him with one of his big hands on Louis’ lower back. They curl up under a blanket, Harry’s cold feet tucked between Louis’, Harry’s long arms draped over Louis’. 

******************

Now that Harry’s kissed Louis, it’s some sort of dam broken. Louis’d thought Harry was a bit touchy before with his belly, now it’s like Harry can’t see him without sliding an arm around his bump and pressing a kiss into his neck. Louis takes a nap and Harry will come in and press his ear against Louis’ belly, rubbing slow circles and humming until Louis falls back asleep with Harry’s deep voice vibrating through his skin. Harry will kiss Louis ever time he walks into a room, even when Harry’s covered in flour and has to lean his body away so he doesn’t get Louis’ shirt dirty. 

Harry sings along to his records with renewed gusto, and when there’s no customers he leans over the counter and serenades Louis until Louis’ blushing and giggling and has to come over and kiss Harry just to shut him up. 

Harry always goes first to his room downstairs at night, until Louis walks over to the top of the stairs and whispers loudly down at him. Louis knows Harry doesn’t want to push anything, but it’s driving him a little crazy, the way Harry curls up around him, fully clothed, one of his warm hands rubbing Louis’ back in slow circles until he drifts off.

Harry wants to talk about it, and Louis doesn’t. Because if they talk about it, Louis has to make a decision, and all he wants to do is pretend that nothing else exists except them, the bakery, the rainy mornings in the truck, the nights curled up on the swing with the too-sweet smell of the daylilies. It’s easy to distract Harry, though. Every time he starts to bring something up, Louis just leans up on his tiptoes and kisses him, and they lose an hour or an afternoon. Louis’d wondered if Harry kissed slow and deep or fast and hot, but Harry kisses both. It’s achingly slow and sweet and makes Louis feel like his skin is on fire with how much he wants more. They don’t go further, and part of Louis is relieved. He’s not thinking about what this means, whether he and Luke are broken up, whether that’s what he really wants, whether it’s what he should do, whether what he’s doing is unfair to Baby. 

Pat gives him a knowing look when he walks into the bakery and mindlessly reaches out to put his hand on Harry’s hip without noticing she’s there. He drops his hand and Harry notices, and Louis feels bad at the way his face falls a little. 

Harry finishes packing up her order and then plucks the glasses off Louis’ face and sticks them under the faucet to wash. 

Pat smiles at Louis. “Getting pretty close now, aren’t you?”

“A week and a half,” Louis says, glancing at the calendar. The due date had crept up on him. His mom had called him last night from a hotel in the city. _I’m here whenever you want to come home, baby. We’ll do this together._ Louis’ always hated making decisions with time to spare, he’s much more of a leap-before-you-look type, never one for careful considerations. And he’s always been good at not thinking about the things he needs to think about, good at distracting himself from reality. 

Louis finds Harry sitting on the counter that night, fiddling with the key in the envelope Miss Hattie gave him. 

“I should give it back,” Harry says. “Or sell it and tell her I’ll give her the money.”

“Harry,” Louis says, disbelieving. “You can’t give it up! I mean, unless… unless you’re planning on going back to England." He swallows around the sudden tightness in his throat and forces his voice to sound even. "That’s fine, I think it could be good—“

“No, I’m not—“ Harry looks up. Louis is right between his legs. “I’m not going back.”

“But your family—“

“They can visit me for once,” Harry says, with a humorless sort of laugh. "I'm sure they're keen to see what I've been doing with myself. How I've been wasting my time."

"Don't say that," Louis says. 

Harry's not finished. His voice is oddly dry and Louis' not sure he's ever heard him like this. “Everything I try at ends up failing. I'm... I'm just a fuck-up. I tried to be in a band and we broke up. I tried to get into art school for photography but I wasn’t good enough. I tried to do university and I couldn’t—I just couldn’t pick a major, I couldn't keep my grades up, and then grandma got sick and it seemed like a perfect time for a break. And then the break turned into more than a break, and now it's been too long and it's...”

Louis steps into the space between Harry's legs and cups his face in his hands. “Hey, you're not... of course you're not perfect. You’re not going to have everything you touch turn to gold."

Harry's face is open and soft, his eyes wet. Louis pulls Harry's head down so he can rest their foreheads together, even if Harry has to hunch over.

Louis speak low, the words just between them. "I know you, Harry. I know you put everything you had into all those things you tried, and wasn’t your fault people weren’t ready for you.”

“It’s just… it’s better I give Hattie her building back. I’d make a right mess of it.” Harry's worried the envelope into a wrinkly mess. Louis takes it from him and smooths the corners.

“Do you want it? Do you want something for yourself? A bakery, or even… if you don’t want to do that anymore, it could be anything. You could sell flowers.”

“I can’t grow things, that’s you.”

“Or you could make it into an artist’s studio, with a darkroom. You could give cooking lessons. You could do anything,” Louis says. “Anything at all, because you’re one of those people. The ones that make everyone who meets you believe a little bit more in themselves because you make them feel so good.”

Harry lets a smile steal across his face and brings his hands up to cover Louis'. He brushes their noses together. “I want that. I want to make you feel good.”

“I didn’t mean like that,” Louis says, and Harry honks out a surprised laugh. Louis waits until the giggles subside, until the moment feels heavier. 

“My mum keeps hassling me about coming back to get a degree in law,” Harry says.

“Moms do like that sort of thing. Much more than they like pregnant unmarried unemployed sons.”

“Lou, you’re so good, too,” Harry says, low and almost a whisper. “All those things you said about me, they’re you. You’re the one who makes me believe. Who makes me want to try.”

“Stop punishing yourself for being a little bit lost and sad in your twenties. As someone older and wiser, I’m starting to think that’s pretty par for the course," Louis says.

“I will if you will.” Harry pulls Louis up into a hug, and it's sort of awkward, the way they're arranged, but Louis doesn't pull away. “You’re not a burden. Anyone who makes you feel that way doesn’t deserve you. And you shouldn’t—if being a papa is what you want and somebody doesn’t want that, then you shouldn’t be with them. You shouldn’t have to spend all your energy trying to convince them it’s a good thing. Because anybody who meets you can see how lovely you are, how good a papa you’re going to be, how lucky Baby is to be yours.”

Louis can feels tears coming, and he sniffles a little into Harry’s shirt.

Everything seems better after a good rainstorm.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay in updating, November was a month that required several other months of recovery… :( Thank you to everyone who’s commented and read so far, and I hope the ending makes up for the wait.

When it happens, it isn’t in the middle of anything important or comical, just Louis squatting down in the garden to pull a few weeds, and standing up to a rush of wetness. 

It’s the first beautiful day they’d had in ages, sun bright and clouds puffy in the sky, and of course this would be the day Louis is going to have to spend in the hospital.

“You like to make an entrance, huh?” he says to Baby. 

Louis shuffles into the shop. Harry is with a customer, getting something for her out of the case. He catches sight of Louis and something in Louis’ face must read obvious to Harry because the tongs and pastry go flying in a spectacular clatter. 

“Is it—oh my god—are you okay? Shit, we need—“ Harry is clumsy at the best of times but he’s completely hopeless now, tripping over himself and everything, and Louis and the lady Harry’s helping share an exasperated look. 

Harry gets almost all the way to the little half-door out from behind the counter and then remembers the woman and turns back to her. “I’m sorry, I’ve got—we need to go—“

“Go on, sweetheart,” she says, waving him away.

Harry vaults over the counter to Louis. “Help yourself,” he calls to the woman. “Anything you want, on the house.”

“Harry at least flip the closed sign over, for christsakes—“ Louis says as Harry ushers him out the back.

“I forgot to check the gas in the truck, shit, where’s your bag?”

“It’s already in the truck, I put it there last week. Calm down, you’re making me nervous.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Harry runs a hand through his hair, smiling at Louis. “It’s really happening, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, a little overcome himself. 

Harry helps Louis into the cab and then runs over to the driver’s side, turning the key so shakily that he fails to start the engine the first few times. Louis feels oddly calm. It’s like Harry’s concern is diverting all of his own anxiety and allowing him to focus. _We can do this,_ he thinks to Baby. 

Harry can’t seem to decide whether to speed or drive like a granny. They’re just about to exit town and the railroad crossing starts ringing.

“Oh fuck,” Harry says, watching the red arm go down in front of them. “We can go around, I could take Madison Ave to the highway—“

“It’s fine, it’s just a few minutes,” Louis says. He reaches over to grab Harry’s hand as he shakily puts the car in park and then stares down at their intertwined fingers. 

Harry doesn’t speak for a moment, and when he does his voice is low. “I know I’ve got no claim. I know I’ve only known you for two months. I know, rationally, it wouldn’t make sense for us to. To.… But there are things the heart knows. There are things… there are things you don’t need more than a few days to know.”

“Harry….”

Harry’s blinking back tears. “You deserve to be happy, Lou.”

Louis is crying now too. “All I ever do is think about myself.”

Harry shakes his head. “That’s not true.”

“It is. I ran away because I couldn’t stand everyone treating me like I was making a mistake. I’m messy and I can’t take care of myself and maybe I should just listen to reason for once—“

“You’re not needy for relying on people. People are meant to do that. We’re meant to take care of each other. I want to take care of you.”

“I can’t…”

“Why not? Fuck everyone else. What do they know about us?”

“Doesn’t she deserve to be raised by her father?”

“Don’t you deserve to be happy?”

But that's not the question, Louis thinks. It's not about happy or not happy, it's about... it's about...

A wave of pain washes over him and he can't for the life of him remember what it's about. What any of it's about.

Harry squeezes his hand. “You do, Lou, you deserve someone who loves you, all of you, because of who you are, not despite it. You deserve someone who loves you when you’re demanding, when you’re moody, when you’re sad. Someone to cook for you and dance with you after midnight and buy you junk food at the grocery store. Someone to love you and sing to you, every day. Every day I’d love you. Every day I’d take care of you. Every day for as long as I live.”

Louis can’t speak, doesn’t know how to start, and he opens his mouth to try and say something, anything, but then the arm is lifting and Harry lets go of his hand to put the car in drive. 

“I don't want you to answer yet, not now,” Harry says, looking at the road instead of at Louis. “I just wanted you to know. It’s an option. If it’s one you wanted to consider.”

*****************************

By the time they get to the hospital, Louis’ mom is there and Louis starts crying the moment he sees her. 

“Been waiting for you to call me,” she says, letting him squeeze her hand. “Got here last week.”

“I’m so glad, Momma. Fuck, it hurts.”

“I’ll be with you, okay, Lou? We’ll do this together.” 

Louis nods, and as they wheel him away he catches a glimpse of Harry standing in the waiting room, beanie in his hands. Louis blows him a kiss and Harry smiles through the window of the door. 

********  
Louis is more tired than he’s ever been in his life, every part of his body is sore, he’s been awake for what feels like 50 hours straight, but he can’t stop smiling. His baby girl is in his arms and she’s beautiful.

Luke’s come in at some point, Louis’ lost track of time. He lets Luke stand there for a while, watching Baby breathe and blink. 

“I’m calling her Diana,” Louis says, his eyes not leaving Diana’s face.

Luke sighs. “Louis, would you look at me? We need to have a serious talk. You’ve been—I know pregnancy makes you crazy, but you’ve been on another level.”

Louis finally lifts his eyes from Diana’s. Luke looks exhausted, like he’s been slumped around in work clothes since yesterday. 

“I’m just… I don’t know if I can trust you to listen to me. You just do what you want without thinking how I’ll feel about any of it. You didn’t even ask me about the name—“

“Her name’s nothing to do with you,” Louis says coldly. 

“So I don’t get any say in my own daughter’s name?”

It's funny, how everything has changed and Louis' gone from overwhelmed all the way around to calm again. How what seemed complicated before now seems so beautifully simple. Diana blinks, her eyelashes tiny and perfect, and Louis is so aware of everything about her, like someone's reset the compass of his body. The world is so much more wonderful and terrifying than he ever imagined. 

He hears his voice come through, strong and sure. “You can visit as often as you’d like. Unless you piss me off, and then I might not be so generous.”

Luke is finally getting it. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m not going back with you.”

“I’m telling you that I’m ready to man up, Louis. I’ve done some thinking and I’m ready now. We should get married.” He says the last bit like pulling off a band-aid.

“I’ve finished waiting,” Louis says. 

“You’re not being fair.” Luke is upset, and unravelling, and Louis might have had some sympathy for him, before. Might have felt the urge to smooth things over, to make sure the fight didn't take a turn for the worse. 

Louis looks back down at Diana’s perfect face. “I’m not marrying you.”

Luke’s voice breaks. “You don’t love me anymore? Just like that?”

 _Just like that._ When was it Louis stopped? It was both years ago, and right this minute. “I have to love myself.”

“That was never very hard for you, was it?” Luke says. He sighs and changes his tone. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. I want to make things work.”

“You can get out,” Louis says. “And maybe I’ll let you come back when you’ve had some time to think how you want to act around me if you want to see your daughter.”

It's mean, and cold, and maybe there are better ways to do this but Louis' exhausted and he's going to put himself first, right now. He's earned that.

Luke opens his mouth, staring at Louis for a long minute. 

“I didn’t mean—“ he starts.

“I’ll call you,” Louis says. Luke seems to actually catch how serious Louis is being for once, and he leaves. 

When Louis looks back up from Diana, Harry’s standing in the doorway. “That was your boyfriend?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Louis says.

Harry scuffs his feet together. “Listen, I want you to know—I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you. I know relationships are complicated, and it’s silly of me to think that I could just come in and—“

“C’mere,” Louis interrupts. Harry hesitantly comes forward and Louis carefully shifts Diana into Harry’s arms.

“Wow,” Harry breathes. He takes her in then looks up at Louis, eyes bright. “She’s so…”

“I know,” Louis says. He holds his finger out for her to grab. “Look at that grip. Strong as an ox. She’s inherited my superior baseball playing skills, obviously.”

“Baseball! Never,” Harry says. Diana coos and Harry grins. “That's a tennis arm if I ever saw one.”

Louis gasps. “You’re not indoctrinating Baby into that country club nonsense!”

“She’ll have a strong serve, look at that,” Harry says, as Diana moves Harry’s finger back and forth.

“That’s her pitching arm,” Louis says. Louis looks at Harry, his face as he holds Diana like he’s never seen anything better. “Harry, how do you feel about kids?”

Harry looks up at Louis, like he isn’t quite believing what he hears.

“I want a whole house full,” Louis says.

A grin breaks over Harry’s face. “So many we trip over them,” Harry says. “And dogs, too.”

“That shop in the city,” Louis begins. Harry’s watching him. “Is there a garden?”

“A small one. But there’s a park nearby, with plenty of room for night dancing. And I can build you a swing.” 

“You’re not building anything. You’ll put a nail through your hand in five minutes,” Louis says. He can’t take his eyes away from Diana’s, but Harry can’t seem to either. “I’m gonna be irrational and selfish sometimes.”

“I will be, too. Just don’t run away from me, alright? Or just, at least tell me where you’re going. And that you’re alright.”

“She likes you,” Louis says, watching Diana smile at Harry’s funny faces. “You’re too young to get tied down.”

“I’ve known what I want since that first day,” Harry says. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

Louis touches his finger to Diana’s tiny toes. He smiles at Harry under his lashes and Harry smiles back, soft and awed and like he can’t quite believe his luck. The way he’s looked at Louis since that first day. The way that makes Louis feel buoyant and so, so happy. He can’t help the smile from coloring his voice. “When we get married, there’s going to be flowers everywhere. And that cake Baby likes.”

“Baby can have any cake she wants,” Harry says. He strokes a hand down Louis’ face and leans in to kiss his forehead. “Anything you want, Sugar.”


	8. EPILOGUE

2 years and 8 months later

 

SUGAR has been named one of the top 5 bakeries in the country. Known for its quirky hours that fluctuate daily, its Earl Grey cake, its butternut-bacon-sage handpies, its herbal tea blends, its Cap’n Crunch donuts, its support of the local dramatic arts and music scenes, it's perhaps best represented by the level of devotion of its regulars, who defend the owners' unconventional ways and insist the bakery is a vital part of their neighborhood and has been for ages, even if it only opened a couple years ago.

Louis ducks out into the back, where there are a riot of herb pots and planters tangled around the small yard. All the bakery’s herbs are grown organically in house by the owners, ie, him. He harvests what they need for the afternoon, popping a mint leaf in his mouth and blowing his scented breath at Diana’s face to see her giggle. She’s ‘helping’ him harvest, though she quickly tires and plops down on the small patch of grass to play with a hand-carved wooden truck her Aunt Patty made for her. 

Louis stands up too fast and has to lean a hand on the fence for a moment. He rubs at his back. He doesn’t remember eight months feeling this bad last time. Baby kicks him in retaliation—Baby is definitely a worse kicker than their sister was. 

Harry comes out of the kitchen door, wiping floury hands on his apron before picking Diana up to toss her around so she squeals, because he’s determine to spoil her. 

He sets a cup of tea in Louis' hands, leaning down over Louis from behind so his curls brush Louis’ ear. He rubs Louis’ stomach and presses a kiss to Louis’ neck. “It’s raspberry leaf and honey. Supposed to be good for Baby.”

Louis sticks his tongue out but takes a sip anyway. It’s not too awful. It’s just not _real_ tea. Harry refuses to drink any caffeine or alcohol while Louis can’t, so that’s some consolation. He’s always serving customers their bullet coffee with a mournful sort of look. 

Harry presses a final kiss behind Louis' ear and turns to pick Diana up again. “Let’s give Papa some alone time, huh, Di?" He leans over to kiss Louis and whispers, “There’s a bath ready for you upstairs. I’ll keep her busy for a couple hours.”

Uncle Liam is babysitting Diana for the night. Louis decided to befriend him when he kept coming in for their open mike nights, because Liam is basically a big puppy who’s overly earnest and Louis couldn’t resist teasing him. They’ve been best friends ever since, and Liam loves Di like his own. 

Louis has become an expert dishwasher for Harry’s cooking, and foot massager for when Harry’s feet ache from standing all day at the bakery, and Harry still draws Louis a bath when he’s had a Day, and picks up after Louis’ slovenly ways, and bakes everything Louis’ been craving. Second Baby came along quicker than Louis really expected, but Di needs someone to play with and it’s not like Louis and Harry are able to keep their hands off each other, so it wasn’t that big of a surprise, really. 

Harry’s started taking mysterious trips in the afternoons and talking about them needing more space than the apartment above the shop. Louis’ got an idea where he’s going. Louis’ been dropping hints about how much he’d like one of the townhouses that border the park. Not having to pay rent on the bakery space means they can turn a nice profit for themselves, and still have extra to invest in the community programs. It’d be nice to have a real house, a room for Diana and a nursery, though Louis is a little nostalgic for when Diana’s crib could fit right next to the bed and he could roll over and hear her breathing on one side and Harry’s soft wheezing snores on the other. 

Louis’ been keeping secrets of his own—he’s been toying around lately with the idea of getting his teaching certificate. There’s plenty of programs in the city, at various schools. Helping Harry in the shop is fun, but he wants something for himself, too. He and Harry nothing like him and Luke, but he still remembers what it’s like to feel like you’ve become subsumed into someone else’s life. He’s always loved working with kids, and schools have good hours for still getting time with Di and her new sibling. 

Luke visits once a month or so, but he’s never seemed interested in taking Diana for the weekend or anything and Louis’ never suggested it. Luke’s got a new boyfriend, too, a guy younger than Harry who isn’t a carrier, who’s barely out of school. They’re thinking of moving to LA. Young boyfriend wants to be an actor. 

Louis had told Luke not to stress over it too much. Di’s young enough it won’t be that big a blow, and Louis doesn’t want Luke to resent her for not being able to live his life. It’d be nice if Luke wanted to be a bigger part of her life, but it is what it is. You can’t force someone into being an involved parent. 

Besides, Di has everyone she needs right here. 

***************

There’s a bet going for whether Baby is a boy or a girl. Liam’s got two jars mounted above the register and each customer gets to put a bean in the jar they’ve got money on. The jars look pretty equal, though Liam claims the girl side is winning. Louis honestly has no idea, and he likes it that way. He and Harry are going to find out on the day they finally meet Baby. He can’t wait. 

Harry finishes up at the bakery, kicking out everyone who’s still lingering—“Sorry, closing early tonight,” and listening to their grumbles with a smile. Only Harry could turn a lack of regular hours into something charming, Louis thinks. Though the goal is to hire some some more help once Baby is born. Anyway, as Harry points out, the only people who stay past 7 o’clock are students from the university who buy a single coffee and sit on their laptops for three hours. 

Louis waits in the small living room in the apartment on the 2nd floor with Liam while Harry takes his turn to get ready. Di is obsessed with her set of play blocks, she loves to build little houses for her dolls and leave them all over the floor so Louis accidentally steps on them in the middle of the night. 

Harry comes out with damp curls in a sheer shirt and skinnies, and Louis loses his words for a moment. 

“Right, we’re off,” Liam says. He picks up Diana and her very well-packed overnight bag. It might be a bit too much stuff, but Harry is very thorough about these things.

Somewhere behind Louis the door closes with Liam shouting bye. 

Louis is still for a moment, and then he crosses the room and throws himself into Harry’s arms to attack his mouth. God, it’s been days, and Harry looks so good, and his hormones are making him horny as hell.

“Lou,” Harry says, in between kisses when he can get his mouth back, “Was gonna take you out.”

“After you fuck me,” Louis says. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, breathless, because he’s always so easy for Louis, and then he’s unbuckling his jeans with one hand and tugging Louis down the hall to the bedroom with his other. 

Harry peels Louis’ shirt off slowly, rubbing his big hands over Louis’ belly and up to his nipples as he goes, kissing the stretch marks and rubbing his nose up the trail of coarse hairs leading down from his belly button. 

“Haz,” Louis says helplessly, not sure what he’s asking for but asking anyway, and Harry understands him because he’s tugging down Louis’ pants and pushing his thighs up and apart. 

Harry licks into Louis slowly, and Louis can barely reach but he tugs on what pieces of Harry’s hair he can and Harry responds as he always does, moaning and working his tongue further in. 

Harry licks his way back up and swallows Louis down, and he comes with Harry’s cheeks hollowed around him, a hand buried in his curls. 

“On your back,” Louis says, and Harry rolls over and grins as Louis situates himself with a bit more trouble. 

Louis isn’t quite as athletic now as he usually is, but he can still grind down on Harry’s dick in slow circles that make Harry swear and throw a hand over his eyes.

“Please. C’mon,” Harry gasps, his hands finding their way to Louis’ hips. “Such a tease.”

“You love it,” Louis says, and runs a hand through his hair with his back arched, because he can feel Harry’s dick twitch against him at the sight. 

"Lou," Harry begs. _"Sugar."_

Louis fumbles for Harry's dick and finally sinks down on it, reveling in the noises Harry makes, the shift of his hips as he tries to thrust up into Louis' grinding. 

Louis comes again with Harry inside him. He leans down to kiss Harry through his orgasm, as much as he can. 

"Too bad I'm too big for you to flip me over," Louis says.

"Like you like this," Harry says. "All big and full of my baby."

"You have a fetish," Louis says. Harry sits up against the headboard and pulls Louis so he can properly straddle his lap. "That's why you fell for me in the first place, huh?"

"Shut up," Harry says. "Not my fault you look so sexy like this."

"A fetish," Louis repeats, and Harry just smiles and kisses him. Harry's impossible to tease after he's come. 

 

****************

 

They end up eating takeout in the kitchen in their underwear. Louis kind of wants to just curl up with Harry wrapped around him and sleep, but they said they were going to go out tonight and dammit, he intends to do that. 

They get dressed and wander over to the park that’s just two blocks from the bakery, Harry’s hand on Louis’ lower back, his other carrying the record player. There’s people out and about even though it’s late, and a few neighbors recognize them and stop to say hi. It’s a young part of town, with lots of other couples with small children. It’ll be nice when Diana’s a bit older, there should be plenty of playmates for her. 

Harry sets the record player up beneath their favorite tree while Louis takes a rest on the bench. It’s a bit of a climb up the hill, but the view is worth it. Harry lifts him into a dance and they sway together with the city lights spread out before them, Harry’s face buried in Louis’ neck, listening to Dolly in the night air. 

_If you need a love that's true_  
_Need someone to stand by you_  
_Here I am, oooh here I am_  
_Here I am_

_Here I am, I'm reaching out to give you love that you're without_  
_I can help you find what you've been looking for_  
_Here I am, come to me, take my hand 'cause I believe_  
_I can give you all the love you need and more_  
_Oh here I am, oh here I am_  
_Here I am_

**Author's Note:**

> rebloggable tumblr post [here](http://thoughtsickles.tumblr.com/post/151499722587/maybe-baby-by-thoughtsickles-pairing-harrylouis)
> 
> I was going to put the playlist for this up on 8tracks but 8tracks is dead now i guess so i'll just give you the spotify link [here](https://play.spotify.com/user/kurenable/playlist/0HntxZwbwJz2wUSlX3YfRh)


End file.
